Whither Thou Goest

Moreno betook himself to the quarters of Farquhar. He found the self-contained young barrister stretched on a sofa, reading a French novel.

Farquhar was already a bit tired of it. On reflection, he was not quite certain if he had not been a little foolish in giving that promise. He had rushed over to Spain to help a man whose only claim to consideration lay in the fact that he had taken away from him the woman he wanted for his wife.

Then he thought of the charming Lady Mary, her warm praise and flattering words. When he got back to England and recounted his exploits to her, he was sure he would receive a very warm welcome. Farquhar threw down his book, and lighted a cigar. “Well, my good old friend, things seem devilish slow just now. Is anything going to happen shortly?”

Moreno nodded. “Things will happen the evening after to-morrow. Curb your impatience till then.”

“You have got it all cut and dried, then?”

“I think so. To-morrow morning I will take you to my excellent friend, the Chief of Police, and tell him that you represent me. We will spend an hour or two afterwards in discussing our plans. I have just come from Miss Clandon.”

“Ah,” said Farquhar, with affected carelessness – that name had still power to thrill him in spite of Lady Mary. “Did you find her quite well?”

“Perfectly, so far as her health is concerned, but naturally full of doubts and fears. I told her you were here; she was, of course, greatly surprised. She expressed a wish to see you.” This, of course, was not the strict truth, but Moreno always wanted to make everybody feel happy and comfortable.

A pleased expression stole over the man’s face. “Oh, she said that, did she?”

Moreno did not answer the question directly.

“I pointed out to her that, in my opinion, such a meeting might be extremely dangerous, and that it is essential you should lie very low.”

Farquhar accepted the glib explanation. Moreno had one of the greatest qualities of a diplomatist, that he could impress nearly everybody with his sincerity.

Next morning the two men interviewed the Chief of Police, or rather the Chief of Police, by appointment, interviewed them at the journalist’s modest lodgings. In the course of that interview many things were explained at length.

Moreno, always cautious, always on the look out for accidents, stood by the window, keeping a vigilant eye on passers-by. Farquhar and the Chief sat at the far end of the room.

Suddenly he espied the tall form of Contraras nearing the house. He bundled his guests into his bedroom. “The old devil! I had a suspicion he might turn up. It is quite safe here. If I give a loud whistle, get under the bed.”

But Contraras did not pay a long visit; he did not even sit down. He had only strolled round to ascertain that things were going right. Moreno, resolutely avoiding details, assured him that everything was in train. On the evening after to-morrow Guy Rossett would be delivered into the hands of the brotherhood, to be dealt with as they thought fit.

Contraras left well pleased. Moreno was certainly a great acquisition to the organisation. When he was well out of sight the two men were brought out of the bedroom.

The Chief of Police shook his fist vindictively in the direction of the vanished figure.

“I was itching to take the old scoundrel straight away, Mr Moreno,” he remarked.

The journalist smiled. “Impetuosity never pays, señor. You could have proved nothing if you had. A most respectable old gentleman, highly connected, through his wife, with some of the best families in the country, pays me a visit to inquire after my health, or perhaps to ask me to dinner at his hotel. You would not have made much out of it.”

The Chief cooled down immediately under this sensible speech. “You are a very wonderful man, Mr Moreno. You never allow yourself to be carried away by your feelings.”

He turned with his gracious foreign manner to Farquhar.

“I understand, sir, you are an old and trusted friend. I have no doubt that you have the same faith in his judgment that I have.”

On the afternoon of that same day Moreno went to see Violet Hargrave. He found her restless and agitated.

“You are sure that it will take place to-morrow night?” was her first question.

“I am as near sure as can be. Unless a miracle happens he will be brought up for judgment before the brotherhood,” was the answer.

Violet shuddered; her face went pale. “I have never been at one of their so-called trials, but it must be very horrible.”

“Neither have I,” said Moreno. “I see, like myself, you don’t anticipate much pleasure from it.”

“But you are going to save him, and I am going to help you,” she cried a little wildly. “You have not yet told me where I come in. The time is very short; you will have to speak soon. Why not speak now?”

The young man hesitated for a few seconds. How far should he trust her? Caution whispered not too far.

He spoke in a gloomy tone. “To tell you the truth, I am not so sure of saving him as I was. Certain things have happened which I had not taken into my calculations.”

He was watching her narrowly as he spoke, to note the effect upon her of his words. She clasped her hands together and her voice faltered.

“I am so in the dark, you tell me nothing, you keep everything to yourself.” She betrayed great agitation, but it was evident she believed his statements implicitly.

As a matter of fact, nothing had occurred to upset Moreno’s plans in the slightest degree. But there was something about which he had been a little careless. He had pretty well secured his own safety, but he had not secured hers.

“I cannot enter into a lot of explanations, when circumstances alter from hour to hour,” he said rather brusquely. “On the whole, I believe I have a better chance of saving him without your co-operation. Now, please don’t ask me why I think so!”

“I won’t, if you don’t wish it,” she answered submissively. “I wish you could have been more frank with me, have given me some hint of what you intend to do. It will be very terrible for me to be there, waiting on the turn of events.”

“You no longer desire revenge on Guy Rossett?” he asked, looking at her intently.

“Not that sort of revenge,” she answered truthfully. “For I suppose murder is in their thoughts.”

“I had a brief talk with Contraras this morning; he came round to my rooms. He was more frank than he usually is with his subordinates. I suppose he was pleased with the way in which I have, so far, conducted the affair. He thought there would be great difficulty in getting hold of Guy Rossett.”

“Will you tell me, some day, why you found it easy?”

“Some day, perhaps; but not now. To return to our chief, Contraras. He explained to me that he has no desire to remove this particular man, if he will fall into line with him. He frankly admits that he is too small game, that he would willingly avoid the odium that such a deed would bring on the brotherhood.”

“Ah!” Violet was very interested now. “If he falls in line with him. What does that mean? Or perhaps,” she added bitterly, “this is another secret that is to be hidden from me.”

“Not at all,” was the quiet answer. “I usually keep my own secrets, but I am not always so scrupulous with regard to the secrets of others. Contraras is going to offer him two alternatives. The first is – that he resigns from the Embassy on some plausible pretext, and takes a solemn oath to do nothing to thwart the brotherhood. The other alternative you can guess.”

“Death,” whispered Violet in a hollow voice, and her face went as pale as death itself.

“And you can guess what Rossett’s answer will be?” said Moreno, breaking the long silence that ensued between them after those significant words.

“I know, I know. He will choose death unless you can save him.” The woman in her came suddenly to the surface, and she broke down, sobbing bitterly.

Moreno looked at her steadily, but not unkindly, for a long time. Her emotion was genuine enough, he was sure. When the dastardly project had only been in the air, so to speak, she had not realised the full horror of it. Now that it was so near to accomplishment, she was stricken with remorse for having harboured such revengeful thoughts.

And presently he spoke again, in his quiet, deliberate accents.

“By a miracle, it may be possible for me to save him, if I can outwit them.”

“But cannot I help you? I know you do not believe much in the capacity of women, but I am not a fool, and in a crisis I believe my nerves are steady.”

“If it is fated for me to succeed, I shall work better alone. But I would like to ask you this. It will be a cruel ordeal for you to be present at this scene, especially at the moment when you will be called upon to record your vote as a member of the tribunal. Would you be grateful to me if I could save you from that ordeal?”

“Very, very grateful,” sobbed the now sorely stricken woman. “But it is impossible. I have seen Contraras to-day also. He has arranged for Alvedero to fetch me to-morrow evening, and to conduct me to that awful house where we are to receive Guy Rossett. It is impossible.”

“There are very few things in this world that are impossible,” said Moreno, a little impatiently. “The first idea I had was that you would frankly throw yourself on the compassion of Contraras, tell him that this man was once your lover, and that you must be excused from taking part in the proceedings on the ground of common humanity. The question is, would that work? It might, because I know he is still remorseful about the fate of Valerie Delmonte. But we are not sure. He is a fanatic of the deepest dye.”

“Absolutely a fanatic,” corroborated Mrs Hargrave. “To him the welfare of the brotherhood is the one supreme thing. All human emotions must be subjugated, all consideration of friends and kindred swept aside, in pursuance of the one object.”

“I am disposed to agree,” said Moreno. “Contraras’ sense of compassion is a doubtful factor. We will discard that idea. Will you put yourself in my hands?”

She looked intently into the dark, brilliant eyes, and what she read there reassured her. He was stubbornly secretive, but he was kind and sympathetic. He was ready to do his best to serve her.

“Yes, I will,” she said bravely. “I trust you.”

“Good! Then that is settled. Alvedero will call for you to-morrow evening as arranged, but you will not accompany him. He will come alone.”

“How are you going to do it?” she cried breathlessly. Her admiration for the man had grown intensely during the last few days. He seemed able to work miracles.

“I shall keep that a secret too till to-morrow morning, when I shall be round at eleven o’clock. If I told you now, you would not get a wink of sleep all night.”

“I shall not get a wink of sleep as it is,” she answered.

But, secretive to the last, Moreno was not to be tempted into frankness. “Oh, yes, you will. Anyway, you have promised to leave yourself in my hands. To-morrow morning, at eleven o’clock.”

They shook hands without another word. Moreno walked back to his lodgings reflecting deeply.

Was this attractive young woman really as bad as he had once thought? Was she not rather a creature of strong passions, of impulses at times ungovernable? Were there not in her womanly feelings that could be cherished and fostered by sympathetic companionship?

Anyway, if she followed his instructions, as she had agreed to do, he had secured her safety as well as his own. And that would be a result that would gratify him exceedingly.

Chapter Twenty One

Save for a little impatience when his judgment was impugned, or somebody questioned the soundness of his opinions, Moreno was a person of the most equable temperament, and singularly light hearted.

Still, when he rose early on the morning of this most eventful day, he was in a very grave and thoughtful mood. He was playing a most difficult and dangerous game. Even if he outwitted the Heads of the brotherhood in Spain, as he believed he had, there were left Luçue and Jaques in London to deal with.

To save Guy Rossett was easy enough; he had laid his plans very surely for that. But he had to save himself; also to save Violet Hargrave. In the plausible explanations that he would have to give in London, there must be no loopholes.

Very early in the morning he again saw the Chief of Police, in company with Farquhar, who, now that the game was really afoot, was manifesting a keen interest in the chase. They rehearsed the whole programme all over again.

“He is cleverer than I thought him at first,” whispered Moreno to his friend, when the somewhat stout man had withdrawn for a moment to consult one of his lieutenants. “But I am relying on you to be constantly at his elbow. You are not the sort of chap to get flurried.”

And Farquhar, although quite a modest kind of fellow, agreed that he could keep his head in a crisis.

At eleven o’clock, as arranged, Moreno presented himself at the lodgings of Mrs Hargrave. She looked very pale and there were dark rings round her eyes. It was easy to see that her night had been a perturbed one, that she had enjoyed little or no sleep.

“You don’t look in the best of health and spirits,” he said kindly. “Well, you have got to pluck up your courage. You will want plenty of it for the next twenty-four hours.”

She shivered. “If I had known what I was going in for, I would never have yielded to Jaques’ entreaties,” she said.

“You never quite know what you will be landed in when you embark in these enterprises,” answered the young man lightly. “Well, now to business. You still want to be absent from that meeting to-night?”

“If it is possible.”

“It is quite possible, but you will have to rely on me, and you will also have to be very brave.”

He drew out of his pocket a small, dark-coloured phial, and held it to the light.

“You see that?” he asked. “Well, this is going to be your salvation.”

She shivered again; her nerves were very much out of order this morning, but she began to have an idea of what he was driving at.

“This is the secret, then, that you would not tell me last night. I have got to drink that.”

Moreno nodded. “Yes, if you are still in the same mind as you were yesterday. In my very early youth I was apprenticed to a chemist. I very soon began to acquire a wide knowledge of drugs, and their properties.”

They had been standing up to the present. Moreno pointed to a sofa.

“We can talk more easily if we sit. I have mixed you here a perfectly safe compound, which I want you to drink before I leave, so that I can take away the bottle; I would prefer it was not left lying about, you understand.”

She looked at him with eyes that expressed a great dread. “What effect will it have?”

“I tell you frankly, about six or seven o’clock you will feel very ill, very faint. Those effects will last for the best part of twelve hours. A few hours after that, you will be yourself again.”

She looked at him narrowly. A dark wave of suspicion had suddenly flowed over her mind. She was sure, with a woman’s certain intuition, that he was greatly attracted by her. Still, she knew nothing of him.

He had always said he was a true son of the Revolution, although she had somewhat distrusted the sincerity of that statement. Had he, out of loyalty to the Cause, revealed her perfidy to the others, and was he deputed by them to poison her, under the specious pretext of falling in with her wishes?

He read her dark, suspicious thoughts as easily as he would have read an open book. He spoke very gently, very tenderly. She had never appealed to him more than at this moment, with her pallid cheeks, the haunting dread in her eyes.

“My dear, you do not trust me, I can see. Your mind is full of doubt. Well,” – he stooped and kissed her – “I can only swear by everything I hold holy and sacred that I would not harm a hair of your head.”

No man could lie so convincingly as that. She reached out her hand for the phial, then quickly drew it back.

“I am afraid, dreadfully afraid,” she murmured in a low voice. “I don’t know which to choose – to do as you tell me, or to go to that dreadful place.”

“You must do as you please.” He was still very patient, but she noticed there was certain coldness in his tones.

She rose and walked about the room, wringing her hands. Her faith in him had come back, but she was still terribly afraid.

“It is early yet,” said Moreno presently. “You have plenty of time to send round for Contraras and throw yourself on his compassion. Implore him not to compel you to assist at the condemnation, perhaps the execution, of a man who was once your lover. He might give way.”

“The last thing he would do. He would think it a grand opportunity to show my fidelity to the Cause. He would let nothing stand in the way if it were his own case.”

“I agree with you now, as I agreed before when we discussed the same subject. Well, you must make up your mind. Take this, or wait here and come with Alvedero to-night.”

She was still wavering, torn between faith and doubt. “But you said you could save Guy Rossett? Is there any doubt of that?”

And Moreno, out of his pity for the woman, out of the attraction she possessed for him, spoke more plainly than he had intended.

“There is great doubt of it. But even if I could save Guy Rossett, I doubt if I could save you. I might just manage to save myself.”

And then, in a flash, she understood, and she doubted him no longer.

“I think I see it all now. You are no more a true son of the Cause than I am a true daughter. I sold their secrets for money. You would betray them for the same or other reasons.”

Moreno did not answer the question directly. He simply held out the phial towards her. “Will you drink this or not?”

She took it from him with a hand that no longer trembled. “Yes. I believe you now. I will drink it. Tell me what I am to do, how I am to act when it begins to take effect!”

“Do nothing; just go to the sofa and lie down. In a few minutes you will be in a stupor, unconscious of everything and everybody. Your landlady may come up; she can act as she pleases; send for a doctor or not. Probably nobody will come near you till Alvedero arrives. When he sees you there he can act as he pleases too. Anyway, he cannot stay long, because he will be due at the brotherhood, to whom he will bring the report of your sudden indisposition.”

“And if the doctor comes, will he not guess?”

“Dios!” cried Moreno, relapsing for a moment into Spanish. “You will be all right again long before the doctor has picked out your complaint from a dozen others that present similar symptoms.” She pulled the cork from the phial, and sniffed the contents. “There is no odour about it,” she said.

“Not the slightest,” said Moreno quietly. “I took very good care of that. I think if the doctor does come, he will be a bit puzzled.”

She drank it down at a draught, then handed the bottle back to her visitor.

“I am an adventuress, and you are – well – a sort of adventurer,” she said, with a half smile. “Well, you see, I have given you a proof of my faith in you.”

Moreno put the phial into his pocket, and held out his hand.

“Good-bye, for the present.”

“Shall I see you to-morrow?” asked Violet, as she walked with him to the door. “You say after about twelve hours I shall be myself again.”

“Certainly,” answered Moreno in his gayest tones. Yes, whatever betided, he would certainly see her to-morrow. Her trust in him had made her more attractive than ever.

On the whole, he thought he had done the best for her. Once he had thought of getting the Spanish police to arrest her on some false charge, with the view of letting her go as soon as all danger was past. But this method did not appeal to him very greatly. The police would be glad enough to get her into their clutches, but they might not care to let her go so easily. Too much explanation might be necessary, in the first instance.

And he always had to adapt his policy to the view of what questions might be asked in London. The tale she could tell now would be a very simple one. She had been attacked in the evening by a sudden seizure, had relapsed into unconsciousness, and been oblivious of everything till the next day.

That evening, at a few minutes past nine, Alvedero knocked at the door of the mean house. When the landlady opened it, he perceived that she was in a great state of agitation.

“Oh, señor, something terrible has happened. I went up to madame’s room some twenty minutes ago to take her her light supper. She was lying unconscious on the sofa, and she has not stirred since.”

Alvedero bounded up the stairs, entered the room, and gazed on the motionless form. At first he thought she was dead, but, on placing his hand on her heart, he could feel it beating.

“She looks as if she were dying. Have you sent for a doctor?”

“Yes. After I found that I could not pull her round, I sent my husband to fetch the first one he could find.”

Alvedero reflected as to his course of action. Humanity suggested that he should stay by the side of the insensible woman till the doctor arrived and gave his opinion as to her condition. But humanity was not a particular trait of the brotherhood, and Alvedero had less of it than most of his colleagues. He had arrived five minutes late, he had spent another five minutes here. If he left at once, he would still be keeping his colleagues waiting.

Besides, what good could he do? If the woman were not dying, as he believed she was, it must be hours before she recovered. The tribunal must sit without her. The sooner he went and informed them of that fact, the better.

He turned towards the door, and spoke a few parting words to the landlady.

“Don’t leave her till the doctor comes. Obey whatever instructions he gives promptly. I will see that you are rewarded for your trouble. I will look in again, in two or three hours from now. Please sit up for me.”

He walked a few yards down the street, where a cab was waiting. He entered it, and was driven rapidly towards an obscure portion of the town.

Half an hour later, Isobel was sitting in the drawing-room alone. Her host and hostess had gone on a visit to some friends who lived near. Guy had not been able to see her during the day, as he had been too busily engaged with his official duties. He had sent round a note telling her he would be round in the evening. She was expecting him every minute.

There was a tap at the door. The maid entered with a letter. The gentleman who had brought it was waiting in the hall for an answer.

She recognised the handwriting on the envelope at once as that of her cousin Maurice Farquhar. She tore it open and read the few pencilled words: “I want to see you at once. It is about Mr Rossett.” She rushed out into the hall, and almost pulled him into the room.

“What is it?” she panted in terrified tones. “Something has happened to Guy.”

“Yes, something has happened, but you must be brave and not give way. He has been trapped by the anarchists, but all will be well. Moreno assures me that he has foreseen this, and will save him. I am now on my way to do my share in the rescue.”

“Can I come with you?” pleaded Isobel. “I shall go mad if I stop here.”

For a moment Farquhar hesitated. He had a rooted dislike to women mixing themselves up in dangerous or turbulent scenes. But her pleading eyes overcame his scruples.

“Yes, if you wish. I have a cab waiting. Leave a note for these people here explaining your absence. Then put on your things and come with me. I will explain everything as we go along.”

A few minutes later they were seated side by side, driving to the same obscure quarter of the town which had long ago been reached by the Spanish anarchist Alvedero.

Chapter Twenty Two

In a shabby room of a shabby house in one of the most obscure quarters of Madrid, five men were sitting. They were Contraras, Zorrilta, Alvedero, Moreno, and Somoza, the fisherman of Fonterrabia.

“Guy Rossett is here, in the next room.” It was Moreno who spoke. He turned to the fisherman. “Has he recovered sufficiently, Somoza?”

The fisherman answered: “He was still a little bit dazed a minute ago when I left him. The handkerchief I flung over his face contained a pretty strong dose. I should give him another ten minutes before he is ready to face the tribunal.”